Spontaneous tripodding

Because the hubs and I are spontaneous suburbanites who like to experience madness and toy with the frenetic energy of overscheduling, we planned a quiet Sunday night in. Keyword: planned.

"Just take the sweet potato soup out of the freezer and I'll bake some scones or rolls or something to have with. It'll be great."

After dancing to a live band for four hours last night, a pyjama-clad mental health day... Lovely.

But then hubs returned from the Sunday-papers-and-bacon run and I discovered a Tripod gig for $27 at Trades Hall. Starting in a scant three hours. You know, sometimes you just have to take a shower and catch the show.

So we've teed up a couple of friends and are now sitting in heinously uncomfortable foldout chairs. The guy behind just made a snarky remark about "So, the new thing is coming to shows to text people-" when I fixed him with my scary eyeliner and snarked back, "Or even to blog about people" and he subsided into "I guess the next time I'm saying something rude I'll say it quietly." And then we laughed, and had a nice little discussion on the merits and pitfalls of live feedback as it pertains to movies and media. (And tradespeople, which I quite like. In my industry all the work I'm happy to accept comes from word-of-mouth and that's the way I like it. They know what to expect, I can have high expectations. Works for everyone.)

Hubs says that in the not-too-distant future we will be able to rank our friends' opinions based on our trust and how similar we feel their perceptions to be to our own. I think we already do a fair bit of that outside of rss feeds, but not being much of a geek, what do I know?

Anyway, the show's been brilliant (and fricking CHEAP). If you're in Melbourne before August 30th, go see the lovely boys of Tripod. They're funny, musically divine, and one is still single. They may not be beautiful in the same way as Christina Aguilera (their sentiment) but they obligingly signed my postcard, I snaffled a setlist and even some sheet music (shhh, don't tell!). And our friends enjoyed the gig too. Chinatown was tempting, but soup and scones... on the couch... in pyjamas... my inner slob (and my outer one) can't resist.

Besides, Tuesday night is the first REAL lecture (don't get me started on the real first lecture) of Intermediate training. Driving to Camberwell instead of ballet is not a thing I anticipate with joy. Neither is the lecture.

Couldn't we all just be trusted to do our own research, perform some field studies, and generally work together? No, that sounds far too easy. Let's complicate with bureaucracy and over-individuation, complete with a highly developed sense of superego.

I should probably stop ranting now and think of potential essay topics. Or maybe just close my eyes and think of soup on the couch wearing pyjamas. That's me pyjama-clad, not the soup or the couch. Much better.